Lead Me To Salvation
by Oldwickedsongs
Summary: A completely pointless ficlet involving a police officer in training named Javert, two friends and a shower scene. A tale of salvation and redemption told by cadets of the Police Academy. Read, hopefully laugh, and review.


Author's Note: Dedicated to Ellen because she's French.

Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,  
that you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.  
And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

**Lead Me To Salvation:**

A tale of salvation and redemption told by cadets of the Police Academy

**By: Lady Erised**

A moment must be taken before this story begins to describe two of the three that will grace the yarn. Call the first Emil because he much favored it over his proper name Camille Tallier. Emil had the face and standing of someone who would eternally appear to be young, and fallow. He carried a brush of pale blond hair tossed over a heart-shaped face, narrow chin and small snub nose peppered across with freckles. Round, full-bodied eyes gleamed from his skull in a shade so green you'd think they were emeralds glistening in snow. In build and manner, Emil was humble and delicate. Long, spidery limbs peeled from a thin frame. He was overly tall, rearing above the heads of his friends that despite himself still suited his naïve immortality.

Emil had been named for his father. Camille was a publisher, a close friend of Marat, and had rose to fame and fortune to the feverish pamphlets he wrote for the Revolution. His son Emil, who had no taste for politics, and even less for his father, fled to the Academy we find him now with the somewhat childish belief that he could be of better use to his country in service of her protection rather then speaking of what she should stand for.

The reader will note Emil is the dreamer.

Stalking like a shadow nearby with every pretense of detachment without any sincerity in it is one named Merlin Colombe de Marie. In taking from the patron of these stories, keep for a moment with the theory that in man each possesses the spirit of an animal. Had Emil been a cygnet, or duckling, then favor Merlin a bear. Squared jawed, with a crop of brilliant red hair that casts the shadows of his deep, dark features all the more fearsome and hungry. He carried with him the Hapsburg lip, and a long, flared nose and high cheekbones, kept under a perfectly scraped chin and fierce hazel eyes.

Before the Revolution, Merlin de Marie had belong to a landed family who had somewhere along their history had secured a title of Viscount; one that was quickly renounced and relinquished when various members of Merlin's extended family had met Madam Guillotine. He held the innate arrogance of one born into aristocracy and had never found how to relinquish its casual indifference that carried itself so well with his prefect manners. Few thought ill of Merlin, and those who did, did not for long after he spoke. To know Merlin was to be enchanted with him as one is enchanted with a bear: to admire its beauty, its fierceness with the same terror knowing that it could rip your life should it care to.

It is important to note, reader, de Marie joined the Academy to avoid unsavory rumors that surrounded him and several sons of the Revolution he had supposedly seduced with the skills earlier stated.

The third member of our party needs only this as his introduction. His name is Javert.

We find the three at the Academy, between the ages of six or seventeen years of age. They had been there long enough to rank somewhere just above the bottom of the food chain but not nearly high enough to be considered of any worth by any that mattered. Still, to each other, they were each other's whole worlds. This is not to say they were friends, for Merlin nor Javert would have considered this. It was a narrow distinction but it was there.

They served together; being in the same unit they watched out for each other- supplemented each other's weakness and augmented each other's strengths. When one succeeded, they all celebrated, when one wept, it was felt by all. They had long since cease to consider themselves separate from one another. Javert, without Merlin and Emil was as unnatural as the moon without the night. Merlin without Javert and Emil was strange and incomplete; Emil without his brothers was unreal. It was not love that bound them, not loyalty nor some sort of romantic ideal that rendered them whole only as a collective soul because it had been drilled into them. They were family by default, friends by order.

Or perhaps, they maintained this belief because it was easier. Should one fall, what, they wondered secretly when they assumed the others to be asleep, how would they continue as a whole?

But these lofty ideals are not subject here. Instead, return to Merlin and Emil standing alone in front of the washing room. It was nothing more then a large, windowless room where warmed water was brought in large buckets, and small bundles of soap were kept on hand. The floor was forever slippery, dirtied and cold, the water was forever filthy and lukewarm. It was protocol that the cadets should bath together in a certain amount of time before dismissing to the mess hall where they took a small dinner with dry bread before evening roll call and lights out. This was as steady and fixed as every facet of their instructed, structured lives.

And for as long as Merlin could remember, and this is something Merlin would remember, Javert had never taken his bath with the others. The young cadet would trail behind after the dismissal of evening classes, and return to their cell with some mild excuse then miss dinner only to appear, clean and pink, by the last call. After several failed attempts to question the man himself, Merlin had to resort to study.

It was during this quiet investigation that Merlin devised this cool, calculating plan.

Emil tugged on his thin tunic nervously now, favoring Merlin with a pleading look. "We should leave him alone." He said simply, in a hopeful tone that meant he'd appreciated it but doubted Merlin would consent. "Perhaps he's bashful."

"If only it was so tame." Merlin hissed. "Do you know why he sneaks around, Emil? Why he insists on doing this?"

"Because he doesn't want to share a bath with ten other boys?"

"No." Merlin rebuked, and crossed his arms, staring at the washroom. "Because he's Gypsy."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Because he's Gypsy."

"Yes."

"We already knew that. He told us, remember?"

"Yes, but that's why!"

"That's why he doesn't want to share a bath with ten other loud annoying boys?"

"No. It's an old superstition. They have strict rules and taboos about being unclean. If you notice, he never surrenders his clothing to be washed with ours. Do you know why?"

"Because it's nasty?"

"It's another taboo. The Gypsy are dead set against that. The men wash separate from the women, and their clothes separate from even that. Do you know Javert fetches the water himself from down water. He leaves the Academy as we wash to do this, without the headmaster knowing…he's breaking the rules! Javert!"

Emil looked horrified.

"See, you understand now. You know how loving Javert is to his laws. We must do this in direct defiance of that devil blood he must expel to remain among us. Think of this as Christian charity. In doing this, we're saving his soul."

There was another uncomfortable pause. "I doubt Javert will see it that way." Then, with his wide emerald eyes fixed on Merlin with a mixture of curiosity and amazement, Emil whispered quietly. "I didn't know you were Gypsy too, Merlin. You must know a bunch of things about your people."

Emil howled as Merlin's fist met his arm fiercely. The sheer force of the impact cause Emil to stumble, gripping the arm protectively with his free hand and staring up at him aghast. "What did I do?" He whimpered, eyes wide, watching Merlin in a way that would express this had not been the first time Merlin had expressed displeasure in such a way. .

"Never. Never." Merlin whispered, coolly. His eyes flashed in the darkness, pulling the savageness of his features out to shadow and tighten the face. "Refer to me as one of that dirty heathen race. Understand? They are murderers and thieves."

"But…Javert…"

"Javert was broken like a horse to be as tame as he but don't ever forget what kind of creature he is, Emil and even then do not forget, he's a Gypsy. He'll betray you too, if the price was right."

"Not Javert." Emil whispered, cradling his arm as Merlin held him up. "He's one of us."

"You fool. You silly fool."

Emil looked pained, and then shrugged off the pain resolutely. "Watch. I'll show you." He told him. Merlin watched with a kind of ill-concealed pleasure as he watched Emil march into the washing room. Not to be left alone when he should be in Mess Hall, Merlin followed.

There was a shriek, not the girlish yelp of alarm he had been hoping for, but still a high pitched protest made longer by the fact Emil had jumped into a tackle, pinning Javert's hips inside his arms and throwing the naked Gypsy-turned-police-cadet to the ground. There was a loud crack as Javert's head met the cool stone, followed by a series of words Merlin was surprised Javert even knew.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Javert shouted over Emil laughter. He looked upset, and shocked while in a desperate battle to avoid smiling.

"I'm saving your soul, Javert!" Emil shouted passionately, like a battle cry proclaimed in defiance of an invading army. "I'm proving you're not Gypsy!"

"…the hell?"

"Just go with it, Javi."

"I told you not to call me that!" Javert shouted, and wrapped his arm around Emil's waist, and threw his weight against him, tossing himself on top of Emil and baring his pale backside in plain view to Merlin who had taken the role of silent observer.

Face with this situation, Merlin could only take one course of action. He slapped the pale skin as hard as he could and jumped on.

Javert ompfed while Emil howled, and squirmed from underneath the pile. He groped blindly and found Merlin's ankle and yanked it firmly. Losing his position on top, Merlin was thrown onto the floor and howled as Javert's body promptly pushed the air from his lungs. Javert's elbow, bidden or unbidden, met Merlin's eye and the next thing Merlin recalled seeing was stars. He heard a yelp again, another curse, this time in a language he didn't understand followed by Javert's voice shouting excited.

"You bit me! You bit me!"

"Your arm was in my mouth!"

"You _bit _me!" Javert continued, unmoved by Emil's explanation. "How would you like…you know what."

Merlin saw Javert dive, and then heard Emil scream. Emil scampered away then, clutching at his stomach. There was some things Merlin decided not to delve too much into after that. He watched as Javert stood in all his naked glory, (and indeed he seemed to have forgotten his place and position) and give chase.

The sheer momentum of his running caused Emil and Javert to roll on the ground for a while as each tumbled to reach top billing. It had rained in the afternoon and the muddy clay smeared over Emil's gray uniform blotching the fabric. Javert never looked whiter in his whole life. He made a motion to pull Emil's hair but not having any beside the half-inch afford him, all he succeeded in was digging his fingers into Emil's scalp. Emil had looped one under Javert's left armpit and the other one around his right thigh and was trying unsuccessfully to lift and throw Javert.

Merlin ran over to help his duckling. Grabbing Javert's waist, and recoiling quickly for Javert shouted as his hand slipped to somewhere completely unintentional. Javert gave Merlin the briefest of knowing looks before diving to grab Merlin's neck.

"Cadets, fall in! Fall in and report!"

The voice barked like thunder and caused the same reaction of fear and utter terror within the hearts of the three. Arms untangled from another, legs peeled off waists and from under backs, as the three scrambled to stand and straighten uniforms. In Javert's case, the cadet turned a shade of red that seemed to augment the fact that Javert was in prefect stance. Merlin slumped a little, recapturing his breath while Emil was all but on his knees in laughter.

The Drill Sergeant stood before them in mussed uniform that still held some of his dinner. He must have had noise and rose from dinner. Merlin instantly cursed Emil's laughing; forgetting for a moment his hand in planning and executing this plan. Javert gave no sign of either fear or displeasure but rather looked up towards the Sergeant with the same sort of respect given an animal who at any moment could kill.

The Drill Sergeant carried himself with the power of an ox broken free from its yoke. He wore his hair long, tied at the base of his skull, pulled back from the bone white skin that narrow clutched to his face. He was not an imposing man in figure, as thick as his authority or vested with the weight of his position but rather carried poison as unassuming as a sparrow hawk. Long of limb, and dulled with age, the Sergeant's eyes narrowed and saw all. He had no use of dark threat, appearance or physical but rather struck fear into the hearts of his students by his mere presence, and the coolness of his manner.

"I am roused from supper at the sound of a fight, and to discover what? Three of my cadets involved in foolery when they should in Mess. Now who, dare I ask, is under the sheet of mud your three bastards find yourself in. Cadet Marie, I'd recognize that shag of red Irishman hair anywhere, and then what? This one is Tallier. All the greater the insult though I can't be surprised I suppose, Tallier has no mind to claim his own why should he not follow such uninspired leadership as you Marie. Then who is this, certainty not Cadet Javert- here only for charity's sake and on account of his patron's will. Surely the gamin would know better then to sacrifice his free ticket to salvation in lieu of a gallows's fate, like his papa."

"The Cadet humbly reminds the Drill Sergeant of the fact the Cadet has done no wrong, nor committed any crime." Javert said testily though he continued to stare down at the stone floor. Emil ventured a look only to see that Javert's face had become flushed with hate.

"And the Drill Sergeant will remind the Cadet that he should not be dry when in a disorganized uniform."

"The cadet continues in respect to state he is in no uniform to be unorganized sir."

The Drill Sergeant squatted down to Javert's level and continued in the softest of tones. "The Instructor reminds the Gypsy rat that the Instructor doesn't care who his friends are and the rat would do well to remember that before speaking in such cheek. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Understood, cadet?"

"Yes, Drill Sergeant." Javert shouted crisply.

"There now," The Sergeant spoke easily as he rose again to full height. "Don't you feel better?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Drill Sergeant."

"Now, Cadet Tallier, explain to the Drill Sergeant exactly what caused this confrontation."

Emil fidgeted in his place and looked up. "Sir?

"Why are you three throwing about in the mud like vermin?"

"Salvation, sir."

The Ox blinked and quelled the smile too late. "Salvation?"

"The Cadet was attempting to redeem the soul of his…"

"Comrade." Javert interrupted. "The Sergeant instructs that constant vigilance is the only sure means of protection, and I intended to save my friends by ensuring their…salvation." He had started off strong but the execution was weak as he continued to speak. Javert was a master of truth, a paragon of right angles and customs and protocols. And it was true he had a zealous if somewhat unique view of the proper implementation of the law, still and simply Javert was not a liar.

He did, however, know how to dance. Watch him go.

"Constant vigilance is important in all circumstances, after all who knows what they shall meet on the gutters of the France? An escape convict, a troupe of thieves…a..."

"You." The Sergeant purred softly. "You, Javert who barely allows himself to be seen in unpolished boots, expect me to believe you waltzed through this compound bare naked to ensure your friends were prepared for any situation."

"With respect," Javert began. "I only got as far as the wash room before they found me."

The Drill Sergeant sneered at him and then across to the other two cadets. "And I am inclined to believe that if asked, you two fools would agree."

"Cadet Javert does not lie." Merlin mumbled casting dark glances to his comrade.

The naked one ignored him, and continued to stare up, and respectfully at his commanding officer. It was impossible to tell if the Sergeant was upset, amused or disconcerted over the events but since he had been given a lie agreed upon them all he could not weasel the truth further.

"Very well." The Drill Sergeant said softly. "Since you all such apt pupils, let us see how well you learned your lessons."

**------**

We return to our three once again but much later into the night. Javert is dressed now, like Merlin and Emil in work uniform. His skin however is still red now from exertion as he carries two large buckets of water with a pole across his back, bringing it from one side of the courtyard to the washroom and dumping it over the floor. Emil is on his knees and hands scrubbing the floors and wincing from the smell of lye. Merlin is farther off pulling the water from the well and setting it down for Javert to carry and retrieving the empty buckets to refill.

Their orders are to have the Academy's grounds sparkling by morning roll, and to be present for the duties of the day. Of the three, only Javert appeared to be fresh and enjoying himself.

"You could have told him it was our fault." Emil stated simply as he heard the sharp clunk of the buckets on the floor.

"Merlin is on his last occurrence, another demerit and he would have been thrown out. You don't need to give your father any more fodder either."

"He'll hear about it anyways…and Merlin doesn't like it here."

"I know. But let him find his way out on someone else's account, not on mine." Javert said simply and then shrugged out of his coat. "Put it on, you're shivering."

"Javert…"

"You're cold. Put it on."

Emil sat up long enough to slide into Javert's coat. He slid his hands over the cuff of the jacket. "You really shouldn't."

"I know."

"I wouldn't make it here without you and Merlin, you know that."

"I do but no worries." Javert had begun to arrange the buckets back on his level as he eased them onto his shoulders and braced himself to push. "I'm good at what I do. I'll always be at my post, with you. You needn't fear."

"I'm sorry about earlier, Javert."

Javert laughed as he stood. It was a fearsome laugh that Emil could not be certain if he was making light of the apology or remembering the event fondly. Either way it sounded like Javert was still upset but could find no reason to continue so when Emil was near. "However noble your intentions, Emil, I need to tell you it's in vain. I'm damned."

"What? Don't say such things."

"I am. I sold my soul to a Gypsy witch in exchange for something."

"What?"

Javert's voice rang out in the darkness as the Gypsy rose under his burden and began to disappear into the darkness. "Becoming a policeman."


End file.
